


Give Me My Sin Again

by spanglecap



Series: Prompt Fills & Drabbles [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Porn, Resolution, Steve Rogers Feels, a nice unhealthy dose of Catholic Guilt, about sex before marriage, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanglecap/pseuds/spanglecap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shouldn't be doing this, and he knows it. But there's something about her that always has him going back for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyfrenchfreudiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I wrote porn and I've had the basic outline of this sat in my drafts since July so thought I would finish it.  
> You can thank Shakespeare for the title

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Teeth scrape against his bottom lip, biting and urgent. His back hits the wall, her body pressed up against his.

The smell of her makes him dizzy. The feel of her, the warmth of her under his hands. The fire in his core.

 _Stop_ , his brain urges. _Just leave._

He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s told himself that. Lost count of the amount of times he’s sworn he wouldn’t do this again. Promised himself that he’d repent. Beg forgiveness.

A gust of breath is knocked out of her when he flips them around with a thud, crowding her back into the wall with desperate lips. Small hands tug at his t-shirt, and he pulls away only long enough to yank the shirt over his head before diving back in. She lets out a surprised but pleased gasp in his mouth when he rips the lace of her panties, sinking his fingers into slick heat with a now practised movement. He can taste the smile on her lips, and he groans at the feel of her.

He’s also lost count of the amount of times he’s found himself going back for more.

The first time it happened – _his_ first time – had been right after they’d almost died on a mission once, just the two of them. It was the middle of nowhere and the helicopter was up in flames. Wreckage seemed to stretch out for miles and he’d been calling her name, but then she’d stumbled out of the smoke and suddenly nothing else mattered. They’d been caught up in adrenaline and relief and the sheer exhilaration of finding themselves alive that he’d hardly known what was happening until they were on the ground and she was straddling his lap, her kiss ferocious and intoxicating. She’d reached for the fastenings on his suit and he’d reached for the fastenings on hers. The next thing he knew her nails were digging into his chest as he buried himself deep inside her, breathless and grasping her hips because for a moment it felt like his life depended on it.

And he’d felt fucking _awful_ afterwards.

It weighed heavy in his chest and in his heart for days. The guilt, eating him alive.

Hadn’t his mother raised him better than that? To just sleep with someone he’d never even taken out for dinner, let alone married like he was supposed to? He and Natasha are colleagues, maybe even friends, and he trusts her with his life in the field. But that doesn’t mean he _knows_  her. Doesn’t mean that the light warmth he feel in his chest when she cracks a sarcastic joke is enough to justify throwing away everything he’d been brought up to believe in for a few moments of pleasure.

He’d just needed to feel her right then, to taste her, in a way he’d never felt before and still doesn’t fully comprehend. It had been like something inside him had just shattered.

Steve had spent the next few weeks trying to put the pieces back together, trying to relieve some of the guilt he felt. He even went to confession once. He swore that he wouldn’t let it happen again. Some small part of him wondered if it might feel different if they were in a relationship, but he dismissed the notion almost immediately. Natasha didn’t do ‘relationships’, and he couldn’t let the guilt weigh him down any more than it already did. He’d just have to…learn to live with it, and not allow himself to fall into sin again.

Except he didn’t.

The second time it happened, he just found himself knocking on her door one night– or had it been early morning? – after a particularly bad nightmare and there had been something like understanding in her eyes when she saw him standing there, feeling weary and confused and alone. He hadn’t needed to say anything and they hadn’t even made it to her bed.

The third time, they did make it to a bed. It broke.

He can’t even remember how it happened the fourth time, or the fifth. He'd only felt the guilt grow and grow more unbearable. Every single time he promises himself will be the last.

And every single time he knows he’s a goddamn liar.

So here he is, resolve shattered into pieces all over again.

On his knees as if he were in church, with Natasha’s thigh over his shoulder and fingers dragging through his hair as she falls apart on his lips with a cry.

For a moment, it makes the guilt go away. Maybe that’s why he keeps coming back to her.

Because her quick breaths and the taste of her are sweeter than any heavenly rapture he can imagine. Because the sound of his name, like a prayer on her lips, fills his chest with something that feels like relief instead of remorse.

There’s a breathless smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks when he stands up, quickly swiping the back of his hand across his face as he leans down to kiss her. She always looks even more beautiful than ever like this, practically glowing. Gathering her up in his arms, he pulls her close and rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. He inhales deeply while she catches her breath, letting the warmth and smell of her sink into his senses and overpower everything else until it feels like she’s the only thing in the word that exists, all guilt and worries of morality momentarily forgotten. If he focuses hard enough he can hear her heartbeat, still pounding in her chest.

Natasha palms his hardness through his jeans and his breath catches in his throat. Her other hand traces the lines of muscle on his abdomen, and a shiver shoots down his spine when her nails ghost over his skin. Bracing himself against the wall, he bites back a moan. Her fingertips hover over his belt buckle, fluttering between skin and denim. Teasing.

“Tasha,” he grits out, jaw clenched. She smiles devilishly and gives in, unfastening the jeans and pushing them down his hips. A hand delves into his boxers and pushes those down too, and suddenly Steve can’t wait anymore. There’s something about her that always has him desperate and losing his grip on control, too caught up in her to care about anything else.

Grasping her hips, he turns her around to face the wall – because no, he can’t even wait long enough to get them to her bed – and she stands up on her tiptoes, pushing herself back against him with an impatient moan. It looks divine when she arches her back, unworldly curves under his hands as he lines himself up. He watches her bite those full, rosy lips of hers when the head of his cock brushes her slick folds; sees them part into a silent ‘o’ as he pushes inside her. He’s learned to always take it slow for this part, for two reasons.

First, because she’s so tight and her body tenses up, holding her breath as if every inch might be just one inch too much and reaching behind her to steady his hips. Secondly, because he can’t ever get enough of the look on her face when he bottoms out, when he fills her completely and she lets out the breath she’s been holding, a sigh of relief. Can’t get enough of the way her features melt into bliss when he holds her in place and starts to roll his hips with long, full strokes.

“Steve,” she gasps, and the sound goes straight to his core when she swears in Russian. Steve shifts his hold of her slightly, lets his hips change to short, sharp thrusts, fucking her harder because he knows she can take it and because she moans louder when he does.

The heat pooling in the pit of his stomach builds and builds, a sheen of sweat on both their bodies and he knows neither of them will last much longer. They never do. It’s always too intense, filled with too much need and urgency and _fuck,_ he’s sure he’s going to Hell for this but it’s damn well worth it when it feels like this. Reaching around to her front, she whimpers when his fingers brush her clit, keeping rhythm with his thrusts.

It doesn’t take long to push her over the edge, crying out as she comes around him and Steve can’t decide if it feels like he’s flying or falling when his own release hits him, hard and overwhelming.

“Fuck,” he exhales, for a hundred different reasons. His heart pounds like a jack-hammer, head spinning.

“Tell me about it,” Natasha laughs breathlessly. She shudders, an aftershock, and another ripple of pleasure goes through him like a stone being dropped in a lake. After a moment he moves to pull out of her but she makes a noise of protest, twisting her spine to kiss him. It’s clumsy and messy, lips sliding lazily against each other, both of them still too out of breath for anything more but it’s perfect anyway, kissing her like this. His thoughts drift away again into blissful nothingness. Natasha breaks away first, running a hand through his hair to push it back off his forehead.

The euphoria fades as he catches his breath.

And the guilt comes crashing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Steve. Poor sweet raised-with-1930s/40s-Catholic-values Steve.
> 
> I was thinking of adding another chapter to this but not really sure it needs it as it's only a drabble anyway. I also haven't really gone through this and edited so apologies for any mistakes. I just kind of went "fuck it" and posted.
> 
> Comments/kudos welcome!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look there's another chapter because I am incapable of just leaving things alone.
> 
> Again, not beta'd and kind of churned out.

The room is quiet, save for the sound of their breathing. Steve’s heart has stopped pounding and slowed to a more regular rhythm, but his skin still feels sticky with a light sheen of sweat. Natasha stretches with a hum of satisfaction next to him, rolling onto her front and burying half her face into a pillow.

It had happened _again_.

For what must be the hundredth time, he’d somehow stumbled into bed with the Black Widow.

Sitting up, he swings his legs out of bed and scans the room for his clothes before grabbing his boxers and t-shirt. He pulls on the boxers first.

“You don’t have leave every time, you know.”

 Steve turns back to face her, yanking the shirt down over his head.

“What?”

“I’m not going to kill you in your sleep or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she drawls, propping herself up on her elbows. A smile tugs at her lips. “Not today anyway.”

Steve has no doubt in his mind that she’s probably fully capable of killing him in his sleep, if she wanted to. But that isn’t what makes him leave.

“It’s not that,” he says quickly.

“What is it then?” she retorts, sitting up properly and clutching the sheets to her chest.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles. He finds his jeans on the other side of the room near the door.

“Oh, please,” she says, smile gone. “Don’t patronise me. You hardly even look me in the eyes these days.”

Natasha watches with pursed lips as he mentally battles with what to say and very purposefully makes the effort to meet her stern gaze. She knows there’s something wrong with him, despite the sex still being fantastic. Something’s been eating him up for a while now, and it’s only getting worse. He used to kiss her and hold her like he needed her to _breath_. But it’s different now. There’s an edge to his touch that shouldn’t be there, something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between them. He always leaves afterwards, usually pretty quickly. Sometimes it feels like he hates her. Or himself. She can’t decide.

And if there’s one thing Natasha hates it’s ambiguity. She frowns.

“Say it,” she instructs firmly. She also hates seeing him look like he’s being torn apart from the inside.

“Say what?” Steve asks desperately. _Tell me what to say. What to do_. His mind’s been running in constant circles of euphoria and self-loathing so sporadically he hardly even knows what to think anymore. _Just make the guilt go away._

“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours.”

The way she says it makes it sound so easy. But how? There’s too much to say all at once, where does he start? How does he even begin to describe the unbearable guilt he carries in his heart? And how does he explain the sheer ecstasy of being with her?

“I can’t keep doing this,” he utters, shaking his head and stumbling back a step or two. It feels like he’s suffocating. She looks at him in confusion. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t-”

“-Did I do something wrong?”

Steve stills, heart twisting. Almost immediately his resolve to leave crumbles, and he can’t stop himself sinking back down next to her on the bed. Can’t stop himself bringing his hands up to cup the sides of her rosy cheeks and mashing her lips to his. How could she possibly think she’d done anything wrong? _He’s_ the one to blame, all of this is his own fault. _He’s_ the one who seems to have lost all sense of self-control and morality. She’s _perfection_ , she feels perfect and tastes perfect and…

And.

Here he is again. In bed with Natasha.

He tears himself away. She leans forward to chase his lips but he holds her back.

“It’s all my fault, you haven’t done anything wrong,” he tells her. It feels like his chest is being torn in half, fighting between right and wrong. But he’s so _tired_ of fighting and suddenly the words just come tumbling out of his mouth, like water over a broken dam. “I want you too much and I shouldn’t but it’s like I can’t control it and it’s killing me, needing you like this. I can't...I feel like I can’t trust myself around you.”

“Then why fight it?” Natasha murmurs, leaning forward again, gaze focused on those full lips of his. A shiver goes down her spine with the merest brush of their mouths before he’s pushing her away again.

“Natasha, I _can’t_ ,” he says, almost like a plea. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s not right.”

“Not right?” Natasha slumps back, confused. What’s not right about it? They’re both consenting adults, and it’s not like they’re hurting anyone by enjoying each other’s bodies every so often. They deserve moments of reprieve and pleasure, don’t they? But then she sees it. There's pain in those eyes of his.

 _He’s_ the one getting hurt.

And she’d been too busy enjoying herself to notice properly. It seems obvious now. She watches with a sinking feeling in her stomach as he turns away, dragging his hands down his face.

“It’s just…it’s not supposed to happen like this,” he starts. “You’re supposed to on dates and fall in love and get married, not just sleep with one of your colleagues and pretend like it doesn’t matter the rest of the time, like it’s not important-”

 “-All of this is because of we’re not married?” Natasha interrupts. She knows he was raised Catholic, but she hadn’t known this particular value was one he holds in such reverence. She’d just assumed after the first time they’d slept together that having sex out of wedlock wasn’t that high on his list of concerns. They usually had much more pressing matters to worry about, like alien invasions or nuclear missiles.

 _But_.

It does make perfect sense for him to feel this way. And it’s also very like him to keep everything bottled up inside until it’s too much to take. He’s as stubborn as a mule.

“I guess that’s the simple version, yeah,” he admits with a defeated sigh. His broad shoulders slump. She wonders if he feels better for saying it aloud. Deciding to be brave, she speaks one of her own hidden truths.

“Been there, done that,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. “Don’t believe the hype.”

He looks shocked for a good few seconds, wide-eyed and mouth agape. She doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t exactly make a habit of shouting from the rooftops about her short-lived marriage back in Russia. Steve seems to gather his thoughts enough to string a sentence together.

“You were married?” he asks, astounded. Natasha takes a deep breath and nods.

“Alexei,” she forces out. She hadn’t realised it would be so difficult to say. “His name was Alexei.”

For a time, Natasha Romanoff hadn’t been Natasha Romanoff. She’d been Natasha Shostakov, devoted wife and partner of Alexei Shostakov. _God_ , how she had loved that man. Or at least, she thinks she did, once. The Red Room had always made it difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t, even now.

One thing she does know, however is how it ended.

Messily.

But that is a story for another day.

“I never imagined you being marrying type,” Steve says weakly, because it’s the only thing he can think to say in the face of the multitude of emotions he’d just seen play out over Natasha’s face with a single name. But already he can see her reigning everything back in, steeling herself behind the name Black Widow. The irony of the title isn’t lost on him.

“Well,” she says, straightening her posture a little and flashing half a smile at him. “Like I said, don’t believe the hype.”

Steve doesn’t really know what to say next, so they sit in silence for a moment until Natasha decides to speak up.

“Technically, marriage is just a contract between two people,” she starts, and Steve doesn’t know if that’s supposed to make him feel better or not. She pauses. “But I guess, at the root of it all it’s about trust.”

“I guess so,” he agrees carefully, not really knowing where she’s planning on going with this.

“I don’t trust many people, Steve. But I do trust you,” she tells him, eyes never leaving his. He’s struck by how sincere she sounds. She usually keeps everything so guarded but he feels like he’s seen more of the real her in the last ten minutes than he has in any of the countless times they’ve shared a bed. This is a side of her he hasn’t seen. What’s worse is that he wants to see _more_. She smiles that devilish, self-assured smirk that he loves with a heated look up and down his body and looks a little bit more like the Natasha he’s used to. “And if I get a little enjoyment out of it I’m not going to complain.”

Steve laughs, for the first time in what feels like an age. He doesn’t want to complain either. But that little voice in his head always has plenty to say on the matter.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he says. He doesn’t want to carry this guilt. He’s sick of feeling so shameful and dishonourable. Of feeling like a sinner begging for forgiveness. And more than that, it’s not fair to Natasha for him to only seek her company to temporarily scratch an itch. She is worth so much _more_. “I think I…need some space. I need time to just sort my head out.”

“I get it,” Natasha nods, pulling the sheet a little higher. “No distractions.”

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. But he doesn’t want something that should be fun and enjoyable to be tainted with his guilt and self-loathing. Maybe once he’s had some time to think, things would be better. If he’s honest with himself, he would quite like the chance to get to know her properly, outside of a bed or a mission. He hadn’t really considered the possibility before, too caught up in an overwrought desire to repent for his actions to think much about what might happen beyond them. She smiles at him again, a small quirk at the corner of her mouth. He’s relieved that she doesn’t look angry or upset. Maybe one day he’ll work up the courage to ask her out for dinner.

“How about one for the road?” she asks, leaning a little closer. “For old time’s sake, huh?”

Steve knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have done any of this. But he leans in anyway, because one more kiss couldn’t hurt, right? Compared to everything else they’ve (repeatedly) done together a kiss seems positively virtuous.

He tries to memorise the taste of her. Tries to memorise the slide of her lips on his, the full plumpness and curve there as he softly catches one of them with his teeth. He feels light-headed, dizzy with the smell and taste of her. She sighs into his mouth and he realises this is probably the first time he’s actually given himself chance to fully appreciate this. To appreciate her. It had always been too desperate and needy and over too quick. This is slow and almost tentative, filling him with an ache like nothing has before. Her arms are around his neck and the sheet has fallen away. His heart clenches at the thought of giving this up before it’s even begun, but he knows what he has to do. For the first time in months, his head is clear. Still extremely conflicted, yes, but clear. Natasha slips a hand under his shirt.

“Nat,” he breathes, wrapping a hand around her wrist. She huffs out a breath but takes her hand off him and sits back.

“I know, I know, you’ve got shit to deal with,” she says, waving him away. “Can’t blame me for trying though, right?”

Standing, Steve lets out another laugh. He pauses by the door and looks back.

“Thank you for…understanding,” he says, suddenly feeling a little awkward. She smirks.

“See you in the field,” she replies. Steve offers her a small smile.

Then he leaves, knowing that this time he might actually keep his promise of not going back to her bed. He makes a new promise to focus on the future instead of dwelling on his mistakes.

He just hopes that if he ever gets chance to kiss her again like he had just now, it’ll be without a chest full of guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last chapter, I'm really sorry I didn't get chance to reply to them all individually as I was stupidly busy helping my bf move house over the holidays!
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much even though there was no porn ;D
> 
> I have really enjoyed writing this as Steve's potentially crushing Catholic guilt is not something I have seen explored too much in Romanogers fic, so thank you for reading my drabble!! <3


End file.
